


A Hundred Indecisions

by staringatstars



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), M/M, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 04:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: When one of the Them mentions how uncomfortable it makes him when people watch him eat, Crowley thinks back to millennia of staring and is promptly mortified.





	A Hundred Indecisions

**Author's Note:**

> _There will be time, there will be time_   

> 
> _To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;_   

> 
> _There will be time to murder and create,_   

> 
> _And time for all the works and days of hands_   

> 
> _That lift and drop a question on your plate;_   

> 
> _Time for you and time for me,_   

> 
> _And time yet for a hundred indecisions,_   

> 
> _And for a hundred visions and revisions,_   

> 
> _Before the taking of a toast and tea._   

> 
> _\- The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock_ by T.S. Eliot

At some point, to Crowley’s complete and utter bafflement, it came to be known among the inhabitants of Tadfield that the lanky red-haired man had somehow tripped and stumbled his way into earning the mantle of a ‘cool’ adult from the children, and was now considered an honorary member of the Them. This was not through any concerted effort on his part, mind you, but rather due to his unusual position on the nature of questions. 

Whatever the question or whenever it was asked, he always did his utmost to answer to the best of his abilities, just as he’d done when Warlock was in his care. Naturally, this encouraged Adam and his friends to ask more and more often, sometimes spending great parts of their afternoons brainstorming what new and exciting things to ask when next a certain demon sauntered into Anathema’s cottage. 

It was on a cool, sunny day that the children invited him along to their den in Hogback Woods. It was a collection of fishermen’s nets, quilts, and garbage can lids, along with what appeared to be the aborted remains of a treehouse. Since the throne clearly belonged to Adam, Pepper and Wensleydale scooted to the far side of their log, their expressions bright and eager as they waited with anticipation for Crowley to join them. After a moment’s careful deliberation on how to manage it with a spine and limbs that had never quite worked out standing, let alone sitting cramped and crouched on a log, the demon settled down beside the children, coiled, cramped, and uncomfortable. 

The log was slightly damp from a recent rain shower and covered in a blanket of fuzzy moss, which did nothing to soothe his mood. 

Adam acknowledged the act with a grateful nod, the move such a kingly gesture that Crowley couldn’t help letting loose a rueful scoff off to the side. Once everyone was suitably seated, they discussed the bees. Not the birds, just the bees. They are, after all, disappearing at an alarming rate. Anathema had mentioned her theories regarding the matter over lunch, and had sounded so distressed at the prospect that Adam had resolved to find a solution to the issue, but not through miracles or magic. 

No, he wanted to help the human way. 

It came up when it was nearing supper, long after the children had grown bored enough with talking of bees that they would gladly seize any excuse to stray from the topic, that Adam asked, “Why is it you like to watch Aziraphale eat so much, Mr. Crowley?”

It took Crowley a minute to shift gears from the ramifications of disappearing insects. As he did so, the grinding and shrieking of metal could be heard, though from where none of the children could be sure. “Sssorry,” Crowley croaked, “what was that?” 

“Wait, so you just watch him eat?” Brian leaned forward to glance at the demon, dirt-caked hands braced on muddy knees. He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. “That’s kind of creepy.” It felt as though this child had just peered deep into his soul, into six thousand years of memories, and somehow managed to pour boiling oil onto all of his insecurities at once. 

Adam took pity on him. Or didn’t. It was difficult to tell. “What do you mean, Brian?”

“Well,” Brian looked down at his shoes, then up at his hands, “I’m kind of messy -” He paused to toss a glare Pepper’s way when she muttered something to the tune of, “Obviously,” under her breath. “- so it’s embarrassing when people watch me eat. Like, I try not to, but sometimes I take a bite of spaghetti and it’s too big so you kind of have to drop some of the pasta back onto your plate? Or when my mom makes me eat salad and the lettuce hangs from my mouth cuz it’s too big?” There was plainly tomato sauce on his shirt, which seemed to support his rather poor assessment of his eating habits. 

Wensleydale pulled off his glasses with a huff, giving them a quick swipe with the cuff of his sleeve. “You could always try not being so messy.”

Hearing that, Brian looked at him as though he’d suggested he run faster by turning into a rabbit. Meanwhile, Crowley was having a small internal crisis. It had never occurred to him that the angel might be self-conscious about his eating. Had Crowley been inadvertently making him uncomfortable for thousands of years? Why hadn’t he said anything? 

There was a pang in his chest, a squeezing that shrank his lungs and tightened his throat. He would have liked nothing more than to slither away from the children to find someplace cool and dark where he could sort out his thoughts, but Adam had asked a question, and the demon was going to answer, or else toss himself in the sun. 

“It’s because,” Crowley tried. He trailed off, gathered his thoughts. “Do you think your parents like to see you happy?” It sounded like a non-sequitur, and yet…

Adam’s brow furrowed. “I think so? They send me to bed early sometimes and make me eat Brussel sprouts even though no one likes them, but they love me, so yeah. I suppose. Yes.” One by one, the other children nodded their heads in agreement. Of course their parents wanted them to be happy, healthy, and whole. Obviously. 

A wry smile threatened at the corners of Crowley’s lips, getting only so far as a convulsive twitch before he viciously shut it down. “Right, so, your parents love you, yeah? Me and the angel… Listen, it’s not the same kind of love, clearly, but there’s something. If I watched Aziraphale eat, which I’m not admitting to, it would be because food makes him happy. He lights up from the inside out, and…” His voice petered out, unable to vocalize the frustrating emotion that clogged his throat and blocked his words from getting out. 

“-and seeing him happy makes you happy,” Adam finished for him. 

Crowley nodded dumbly, figuring he was pretty much spent for the evening when it came to emotional honesty. Pepper appeared unimpressed by the admission, Brian kept shooting nervous glances his way, and Wensleydale picked up a toppled over mushroom with a white umbrella top off the ground and twirled it between his fingers. 

The silence hung heavily until Adam suggested they make a swing out of a plank of wood and some vines, and the topic was forgotten in favor of their next adventure. It slipped from all of their minds, with the exception of one, whose claws had sunk in too deep to simply let it go.

Something was wrong with Crowley. 

It wasn’t obvious at first, but became more and more apparent as their afternoon at the Ritz dragged on. Whenever Aziraphale scooped up a bite of his coconut sorbet or popped a particularly decadent raspberry into his mouth with a delighted hum, Crowley would avert his eyes, having taken a considerable amount of interest in the ceiling, the silverware, or his scaly shoes. 

Seeing this, the angel couldn’t help but be on edge. Had someone confronted Crowley about dining with him? His mind drifted to Gabriel, to _I would not sully the temple of my body with gross matter_ and the sweetness of the berries turned to dust in his mouth. 

He saw Crowley sneak a glance at him, confusion brewing in his gaze at the change in atmosphere, only to hastily look away. The angel felt the heart in his chest ache at the sight. 

_Who did this?_ He wanted to ask. _Who is it that has made you afraid to look at me?_

But Crowley would hardly appreciate such a direct approach in public, and putting him on the defensive would ensure that the demon remained stubbornly mum on the matter. 

Instead, Aziraphale placed a gentle hand over the white-moon shapes of his knuckles, taking in the full-body jerk, the sharp intake of air, with an air of sadness, but not of surprise. It would take time, he knew, before Crowley could allow himself to believe that Heaven wouldn’t tear the angel away from him at the slightest show of affection, that they were well and truly on their own side now, but Aziraphale believed. He believed it enough for both of them. 

“My dear boy,” he said softly, “would you please share what’s on your mind?”

Golden eyes darting nervously, the demon shuddered. Aziraphale waited patiently, allowing him the chance to gather his thoughts. “Do I... make you uncomfortable?”

The angel released a breath of air he hadn’t realized he was holding through his teeth, resulting in a sound not dissimilar to a hiss. “Yes.” Crowley’s head jerked up in shock, but before his mind could draw the worst possible conclusion, Aziraphale rushed to add, “And no. I suppose one could say that you make me uncomfortable when you saunter into my bookshop with your infuriating hips, but I’d hardly call that a bad thing.” He chuckled fondly. “You’ve taken me out of my comfort zone over the years, introduced me to new hobbies, taken me to new places. Again, hardly a chore. If I never left my bookshop, never ventured into the outside world, I suppose I would be very comfortable, indeed… but would I be happy?” Wearing a warm smile, he paused to give Crowley’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I should think not, my dear.” 

“What about when I watch you eat? Would you rather I… Look, I’ve never asked-”

“You never had to,” Aziraphale was quick to assure him. He had some inkling what this was about now, having overheard the Them arguing the finer points of dining etiquette several days prior, and while he’d like to say it wasn’t like Crowley to let such things get to him, it was actually very much in keeping with the demon’s character to latch onto such doubts and let them fester over time. “And, to answer your question, not in the slightest. However, I would be admittedly put out if I were to find that my friend had gotten it into his head that I begrudge his company.” 

Crowley stared at him without speaking. Every so often he would glance down at their hands, as though waiting for the moment when the angel would remember what he was and pull away, but Aziraphale had never forgotten. It simply did not matter.

He cleared his throat with a cough, bearing an impossible hint of flush at the ridges of his cheeks, “What would you like for dessert, angel?”

“Dessert? It’s lunchtime, still. Quite early.” 

Taking Aziraphale’s hand in his own, Crowley leaned forward, a mischievous grin transforming his sharp edges and angles into something almost boyish, “Sure, for the humans, but what’s time to _us?_” It was a sight the angel could have spent six-thousand years drinking in, and sometime before the waitress arrived with their second bottle of champagne and a bowl full of peaches glistening with sweetness, Aziraphale realized that he was staring at his friend with an utterly smitten expression, and made the conscious effort to do absolutely nothing about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and, as always, have a fantastic day!


End file.
